Smiles: Memoir of John Murray

No account of Mr. Murray’s career would be complete without some mention of the ‘Handbooks,’ with which his name has been for sixty years associated; for though this series was in reality the invention of his son, it was Mr. Murray who provided the means and encouragement for the execution of the scheme, and by his own experience was instrumental in ensuring its success.

An article written by the present Mr. Murray has formed the basis of this chapter, but the information contained therein has been supplemented by extracts from several unpublished letters written by him during his travels in Europe, while he was writing or revising the ‘Handbooks.’

In later years Mrs. Starke made a beginning, but her works were very superficial and inadequate, and after personally testing them on their own ground, Mr. John Murray wrote from Munich, in September 1831:—

“I am very sorry to find that Mrs. Starke has been so precipitate in reprinting her book. The errors in the German part of it are innumerable, and I have taken great pains, ever since I first went abroad to collect information, to improve it. A new and very much improved edition of Reichardt has recently been published. Would it be worth translating, do you think? The last edition, published by Leigh, is perfectly detestable—errors in almost every line.”

While the younger Mr. Murray was the originator and author of the well-known ‘Guides,’ it is to his father that the familiar name of ‘Handbook’ is due, as well as the uniform red cover which has become the badge of the British traveller.

The following extracts from Mr. John Murray’s letters home tell their own tale, and any comment on them would be superfluous. In these days, when every accessible corner of Europe may be said to have a special literature of its own, it is interesting to look back and realize what were the difficulties and discomforts which beset a traveller half a century ago.

“. . . Last night I made an excursion to the Armenian convent on the Island of San Lazzaro, to visit the Padre Pasquale Aucher, he had not by any means forgotten you, and asked very kindly after you. He conducted us over the convent, snowing us the library in which Lord Byron used to receive his lessons from him. He has recently had for pupils Lord and Lady William Russell, to the former he has dedicated a translation of Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’ which he has recently made, and which has been printed at the press of the convent. This he also showed to us. I should fear that this, though perhaps a useful, is not a very profitable part of the establishment. He lastly brought us

BYRON’S LAST DAYS.

465

seats in the neat little garden, which has been formed in the space enclosed by the cloisters (here coffee and lemonade was prepared for us), entertaining us in the meantime with his very agreeable conversation. He continues to speak English very well, and is warm in praise of the whole nation, with the exception of Lady Morgan, who has lugged him into her ‘Italy’ rather unceremoniously. One occurrence only he said had given him annoyance during his visit to London, that was the being mistaken for one of the witnesses against the Queen, whose trial was going on at the time: considering the Father’s reverend station, together with the gravity of his long beard, this was a most unlucky mistake. However he was enabled to make it understood that though he came from Venice, he was not asked to leave, and had no knowledge of the business. He is aware that a preface was written by Lord Byron for the Armenian Grammar: it was suppressed at Father Pasquale’s request because it contained some very strong passages against the Sultan, the Sovereign of his native country, who might easily have retorted on his friends and kindred for such an insult. He has given me a copy of his Armenian Milton for you, together with his own portrait. He received us with a kindness and good nature which was the more remarkable, as he is, I fancy, very much pestered with visits from English people, and especially in our case, as I found that our visit was paid at an hour when, by the convent regulations, the door ought to have been shut, and at last he was obliged fairly to turn us out and the key upon us.”

“. . . . From Salzburg we took the Vienna road in order to reach the fall of the Traun, which Sir H. Davy had already brought into notice in England. We found the road crowded with people hastening from Vienna, evidently in alarm for the cholera, which at one time was supposed to have actually made its appearance in that city, several persons having died suddenly and of very suspicious cholics. The retreat of the Imperial family to Schonbrun also probably strengthened the report, though I believe it was unfounded. The terror of the disease is spreading through Germany. Within these few days a cordon has been established on the Bavarian border, and had we been at Vienna we should certainly not have been allowed to pass through it. The Austrian Government, in their paternal care for the people, have published a paper of advice, recommending frequency of ablutions, both of person and habitation, and to abstain from butter, old cheese, green apples, and things sour. I suppose there have been nearly a hundred different brochures published respecting this pestilence. Remedies of all sorts have been put forth, one of which is no other than Dr. Sangrado’s vizpine water, and not a few are collections of prayers for the aversion of the calamity. Those which are good are almost entirely indebted to English publications for their matter. The experience of German physicians confirms the notion of its being epidemic (conveyed by air), and no cordon, however strong, has as yet stood against it. Its ravages in Hungary are said to be terrible. The peasants there are neither clean nor well fed; they are very closely packed in their houses, and generally there is no more than one medical man to attend to a population of eight or ten thousand. . .”

“The postilions who drove us had in one or two instances been out with Don Carlos—one still wore the military great-coat bearing C.V. buttons now turned into a boxcoat; they urge on their horses and mules—for both occur mixed in one team—by calling each by its name and scolding them with volleys of Spanish oaths—quite different from and twice as bad as the French. To complete the contrast, and fully assure us we were in Spain, we had not advanced eight miles before out started from among a party of peasants assembled by the roadside, on the approach of our conveyance, a pair of wild-looking but athletic fellows in blue caps and blouses, with heavy guns slung behind their backs, and ran by the roadside for a whole stage keeping up with the horses. These were miquellates, or police officers appointed to escort and protect us from robbers—as in the present state of the country there are many wild fellows about, and the Zaragossa diligence was robbed a few days ago to a very large amount, taken from the different passengers. In our case there appeared to be no risk of such an adventure; but really the country seems made for robbery and war, a very thieves’ Paradise. The houses, great, heavy, square flat-roofed buildings with thick walls and small windows, are ready-made forts, every little window commanding the road looks like a loop-hole, and the country is so tossed about with hills, enclosed with winding, defile valleys, having sudden turns, so scattered with mounds and banks, and sprinkled with tufts, bushes,
THE CONSEQUENCES OF WAR. 475
hedges, and bits of old wall—an ambuscade might be formed at every five yards. . . . After toiling up a long and very steep ascent we came in sight of St. Sebastian—the Gibraltar of the north of Spain—a tall, rocky eminence, with a crown of embrazured walls bristling with cannon on its top, rising out of the sea in the middle of a bay, which extends two hilly arms on either side. A tongue of sand, along which the road is carried, joins the rock to the land, and at the end of the causeway, which every advancing tide contracts in width to a musket-shot, lies the small town, nestling under the tall rock and also surrounded by very strong and lofty fortifications. Its aspect as you descend the hill towards the sea is very striking, but our attention was partly withdrawn from it by the objects in the fore-ground. The whole slope of the bay towards the fortress, forming a curve of high hills extending for five or six miles, is sprinkled over with cottages and convents, and with the exception of one or two which have been repaired or rebuilt in the last eighteen months, not one remains entire; the roofs smashed in or entirely gone, the inside gutted of every bit of timber, with heaps of stones, already grass-grown, lying where once were hearthstones and chambers; the windows empty or built up with loopholes; the outer walls scarified by shot, except where some cannon-ball or shell had gone clean through, leaving either a hole or prostrating the walls entirely. Such is the aspect of the country within a radius of three miles from St. Sebastian—such the consequences of war. These houses were good points for annoying the fortress, and were on this account occupied by the Carlists in besieging it; they, dislodged by its cannon, were sometimes buried under the ruins, but always burning or gutting the habitation before they quitted it.”

Barrèges, September 7th, 1841.

“. . . . It happens that the watering-places of the Pyrenees are so placed as to form excellent halting-places for mere tourists, while in passing from one to the other, or in short excursions, you see all the finest scenery. The number of English we have seen here is remarkably small, I cannot help thinking because so little is known of the country. There is literally no tolerable guide. I know no district so destitute, and we are obliged to feel our way at every step by gleaning oral information. Torrie is a most invaluable
476 MEMOIRS OF JOHN MURRAY
and delightful companion. It is like seeing with another pair of eyes to have him at my elbow, and it is not a little agreeable to revive old recollections and associations of former journeys. After having been so many years separated, there was yet a question, on once more travelling together, how far our tastes might agree. The result has proved that no change has occurred, and he has so much good sense and good temper that it is impossible, I am sure, to find a more agreeable companion. Owing to his long illness, however, he still feels the effects of his rheumatism in his knees to such an extent that he cannot take very long walks, so that we have hitherto not made any arduous expeditions. The longest walk we have taken was from Cauterets to a small lake called Lac de Gaube, about twelve miles there and back, through fine scenery, but up hill all the way. The lake has a melancholy interest from the death of a newly-married English pair—who arriving at this lonely spot, where there is only a solitary fishing hut. in the absence of the fisherman got into his wretched ticklish canoe for a row—when in the middle of the lake the boat upset, how, no one knows—and they were drowned, without any eye to mark their fate even. In toiling up the steep path, Torrie’s sharp eye discovered the recent footmarks of a bear’s paws, claw and heel as distinct as possible imprinted probably not more than three or four hours before. Snow had fallen in the night, which had probably caused Bruin to descend lower than usual in search of food. We made the pretty little village of Luz our headquarters for a day or two, on account of its central situation for making several excursions. The chief of these is to the Cirque de Gavarnie, distant about fifteen miles. We set out on horseback soon after six, with a guide, Jacques, recommended by our worthy little fat landlady, Madame Caseaux, who gives almost the best dinners to be found in the Pyrenees.

“Favoured by brilliant sunshine and fresh morning air, we toiled up the valley, past the edge of precipices, down which the eye looked plump 250 or 300 feet into the green and frothy river, agonized within the narrow cleft, barely opened for it between the rocks; below, we trotted over many narrow bridges of planks, suspended over gulfs and cataracts, and galloped by waterfalls innumerable, many of them bestridden by water-mills four or five in a row, not
SCRAMBLES IN THE PYRENEES. 477
much larger than boxes, looking at a distance like beads on a white thread. About half-way in descending a hill towards a village called Gedres, where the gorge expands into a basin-shaped valley, we had a fine view of the mountain called Marboré, which rises above the Cirque de Gavarnie, all covered with snow, and beside it we saw equally clearly the far-famed Brèche de Roland. This is a square gap in the wall of rock, forming the crest of the mountain, and made by the Paladin en Chef Orlando, with one smashing blow of his sword when he passed over into Spain to fight the Moors. We pulled up and eyed it attentively; I with my glass. From where we stood it looked a mere notch, or like the gap left in an otherwise well-filled jaw, by the loss of a single tooth. Yet we gazed on it with interest from the story, and its name, and its great elevation, 9000 feet above the sea, and Torrie advised me to make the ascent, he of course, not being equal to it. The idea had occurred to me already; the ambition of the exploit, and my desire to benefit the readers of the ‘Handbook’ (should there be any readers) prevailed, and I proposed to our guide. The suggestion came unexpectedly upon him. We had started one hour and a half too late, he said, and it would take four hours’ hard climbing from the foot of the ascent. In short he seemed very lukewarm. Still the ascent was at once decided on. At Gavarnie we were provided with crampons, spikes for the feet, and with spiked batons, which a wild dishevelled lass bore, scampering after our ponies about three miles from the village as far as the Cirque. This is a natural amphitheatre, surrounded not by mountains, as valleys commonly are, but by a circle of precipices, rising like a wall on all sides, save one where there is a break to let out the river formed by the drainage of many glaciers, and of twelve or sixteen streamlets which descend over the walls of rock in falls like white strings. In the Cirque of Gavarnie, its walls are divided into three or four steps or terraces, and between each terrace is a glacier of ice and snow heaped up—the whole surmounted by numerous sharp snowy peaks. As a scale to show you the dimensions of the Cirque, there is one fall which descends in one white cord, down the face of a precipice 1200 to 1400 feet high. Yet there is a singular ocular deception; you arrive at the entrance, and think the waterfall close at hand, but you toil on over rough fallen stones
478 MEMOIRS OF JOHN MURRAY
and glacier for nearly half an hour before you reach its foot, the distance being a long mile. I have now got to the foot of the mountain, and the very verge of my paper, and in consequence must break off; but I promise to continue my narrative immediately on another sheet.”

With regard to the following letter, the reader must bear in mind that it was written sixteen years before the Alpine Club came into existence, at a time when the science of mountaineering, as now understood and practised, was in its earliest infancy.

Bagnères de Bigorre, September 8th, 1841.

“Before quitting the village of Gavarnie, by Tome’s advice I fortified myself with breakfast—some trout and a very tough chop, washed down with a small quantity of red wine and water, but the wine being very bad, I did not take much of it. “But,” you exclaim, “you have brought us to the foot of the mountain; why don’t you carry us up?” The fact is, I cannot see my way up, and neither you, nor any other person, coming to the Cirque for the first time, would divine that there was any way up. It is all wall and precipice, perpendicular all the way round. Jacques, however—the sturdy guide of eighteen years’ standing, who has been up to the Brèche twice this year, and four or five times last, and more than forty times in his life—is leading the way steadily over stripes of dirty glacier and heaps of pointed stones fallen from above since the Creation, and perhaps part before it, while the world was a chaos. He, however, makes steadily for the right-hand corner, picking his way where no path is visible, to a slightly-projecting buttress of rock, seemingly as abrupt and vertical as any other part. Here, however, he commences literally escalading the precipice, and as the undertaking is now not to be avoided—no shirking, your humble servant set to work in earnest to imitate Jacques, and find his way. Where we began, the rock is literally a sheer wall; but, being composed of shivery limestone—a kind of slate—it breaks off into splintery edges, which serve, with care, as steps. I do not profess to be especially courageous, or provided with strong nerve, or endowed with remarkable strength or
ASCENT OF THE BRÈCHE DE ROLAND. 479
steadiness of head, and felt it was only by firmly riveting my attention to the object before me, the very spot on which I was to place my foot, that I could avoid the distraction and tendency to giddiness produced by a sheer glance down a precipice hundreds of feet beneath me. In many places the steps were very wide apart, or instead of a projection offering a hold for the foot, nothing but a smooth space of slate presented itself; now and then my blindness prevented my discovering the proper steps, and I then had to feel my way, aided by the guide’s instruction, and grasping firm hold by the hands of some projection above. Here the spiked pole was much in the way, and I was tempted to throw it aside—it was well I did not. The guide made his way steadily upwards, putting one foot before the other in the same even steps, as though regularly beating time, but always ascending, sometimes up a steep bank of greensward, at another up a projecting buttress of the limestone rock, the strata of which, being almost vertical, resembled the leaves of a book, only quite ragged round the edges. In this way we toiled up for two good hours—of incessant hard staircase work without intermission of level ground. The heat was intense, and I felt a constant throbbing in the drums of my ears; once or twice we stopped to draw breath, and it was a glorious sight to look around upon the Cirque, and the snowy ridges surmounting it; it was a glorious sight now to look down upon the precipices and waterfalls beneath my feet, which just before I had gazed up at with aching head.

“After each twenty minutes of hard toil I looked round upon the great waterfall, the 1200 feet cascade, as a measure of my own progress in ascending—and it was a tough job to get the mastery of him, and look down upon him, I assure you. The only sound in this wilderness hitherto had been the murmur of these falling waters, but about twelve, when the sun had become powerful, a distant report like thunder attracted my attention, followed by another; it was the roar of the avalanches stirred by the heat, and a very respectable broadside the Pyrenees kept up that afternoon, not much inferior to the Alps.

“At the height we had now attained—about 1500 feet from the bottom of the rock—we were met by the cold wind from the glacier, and very refreshing it was, I assure
480 MEMOIRS OF JOHN MURRAY
you. Below us still yawned the gaping Cirque, apparently so close under our feet that we might throw a stone into it. The guide traced Torrie’s progress along the bottom, but he was reduced to such an emmet in the depth below that my eyes could not discover him. Above our heads now opened out a wide expanse of snow and glacier, covering a very steep slope, and surmounted by the ridge of rock in which is the rent of Roland’s Brèche. The glacier is a high steep plane, like the roof of a house, and the most difficult part of the task is to ascend it. I sat down on the last rock rising, as it were, on the shore of this sea of ice, and after the guide had tied the crampons very firmly upon my feet, I grasped my pole and started. I was very tired by this time, and the steepness, together with the weight of the crampons, to which I was unaccustomed, and the snow hanging to them, rendered it very laborious; add to this, a cold rain and sleet came on, which made the snow and ice still more slippery and the foothold more difficult. As I toiled on, keeping as well as I could nearly up with the guide, and treading in his footsteps, two other travellers, who had started some hours before us, passed us, swiftly descending. How I envied them; but half-an-hour’s good hard work still remained for me. From the slipperiness of the snow (which had recently fallen), and the fatigue I felt, my steps no longer continued firm, my feet slipped from under me, and, after one or two slips, down I slid like an arrow, traversing in half a minute what had taken a quarter of an hour to surmount; indeed, I was in a fairway to the bottom of the glacier, but, recollecting some of my Swiss experience, I threw myself on my back, stretched wide my feet, digging in the heels, and driving the spike of my baton deep into the snow, and thus shortly brought myself to an anchor. In an instant Jacques was down from the height he had reached, beside me, and, laying hold of my hand, with stout arm and firm foot soon led me to the top of the ascent. The next stage of the business is to cross another division of the glacier nearly in a straight line, scarcely ascending at all, but the angle at which it lies is very much steeper than that passed already, so that I do not think it would be possible, except for a very skilful mountaineer, to ascend it, and the foot that once slipped in crossing it would go irretrievably to the bottom. Here my guide made me precede him, and gave me special injunctions to lift up my
THE BRÈCHE DE ROLAND. 481
feet well, and set each foot down with a stamp, so as to make a good hole in the snow, sticking in my pole to a considerable depth before each step, adding after his admonitions, ‘Parcequ’il y a de danger ici.’ This mauvais pas was passed happily, safely, and quickly, and a few steps more brought me within the Brèche de Roland. The little ridge which I had seen below, eight miles off, like the blade of a small saw inserted in a grooved handle, now rose before me a mountainous wall of rock 300 feet high, and about 50 feet thick in the gap. The gap of Roland itself had expanded to a width of 180 feet. Before me, looking through this singular window, was Spain, a most uninviting prospect in the foreground of rugged ridges, and bare mountains, and valleys filled with stones and snow. The horizon, up to which rises the vast plain of Arragon, dimly seen in very clear weather, was now concealed. On the French side the Vignemale, the highest mountain in Southern France, and covered with glaciers, was also partly hidden. But except these all was clear, the sleety rain had ceased, the sun shone brightly forth, and a hundred peaks rose around me. Still, the absorbing feature is the Brèche itself, and the colossal wall, rising so high and so abruptly—literally a wall in proportion to the mountain, with slopes down on both sides like a house-roof. It is like the crested mane rising from the neck of a Grecian horse. The threshold of the Brèche shares in this peculiar character, so that I sat astride of the rocky ridge which forms the boundary line of two mighty kingdoms, with one leg in France and the other in Spain. The gratification of having succeeded, the elasticity of the mountain air, and a crust of bread with a piece of prepared chocolate cake, washed down by a draught from Jacques’ previously-despised wooden bottle, dissipated all fatigue. Jacques was distressed that he had no cup, but one or two good hearty pulls at the bottle-mouth, time about, and a couple of cigaritos—genuine from St. Sebastian—cemented our friendship, and we became great allies. The Brèche, notwithstanding its difficulty of access, serves as a pass from a small Spanish village into France, and my guide pointed out to me a nook in the rock where a flask of wine had been deposited by a party of three wild but handsome and Murillo-ish shepherds, whom we had met conducting two priests.

“We had accomplished the ascent in three hours, the time
482 MEMOIRS OF JOHN MURRAY
usually taken being four; the descent was effected in less than two, which is equally good speed.

“The first glacier was passed slowly and cautiously; the second we glided down in the fashion of a montagne Russe, resting on our spiked staffs to check the rapidity of our progress, I was right glad to get rid of the crampons when beyond the slope. The rest of the descent we leaped, trotted, walked, or scrambled down in the time mentioned, taking our time about those craggy buttresses of precipitous rock. I was surprised to find how nearly the guide followed the same track in descending; though quite imperceptible at a distance to my eye, yet I found myself treading on the very same stones I had trod on in mounting. I had agreed with Torrie that he should ride back to Luz quietly, and await me there, but not be surprised if he did not see me till next morning; but, having got through the walk so well and quickly, and finding my guide true to the backbone, I determined to ride back that night. Accordingly, after half-an-hour’s rest and a cup of coffee at Gavarnie, we were once more on horseback, and in less than three hours’ time the fourteen miles of mountain road was passed, and the courtyard of good and fat Madame Cazeaux’ inn was resounding to the crack of my whip. I was warmly welcomed by Torrie, as you may suppose, and after a supper of tea and fowl, retired to a good sound sleep, with no other discomfort than of considerable chafing, which, considering I do not think I ever rode thirty miles before in one day, was to be expected. The last four or five was in the dark, but I made the guide ride between me and the precipices.”

The first of Mr. John Murray’s Handbooks to the Continent, published 1836, included Holland, Belgium, and North Germany, and was followed at short intervals by South Germany, Switzerland—in which he was assisted by his intimate friend and fellow-traveller, William Brockedon, the artist, who was then engaged in preparing his own splendid work on ‘The Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers of the Alps’—and France. These were all written
SUBSEQUENT HANDBOOKS. 483
by Mr. Murray himself; but, as the series proceeded, it was necessary to call in the aid of other writers and travellers. Switzerland, which appeared in 1838, was followed in 1839 by Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, and in 1840 by the Handbook to the East, the work of Mr. H. Parish, aided by Mr. Godfrey Levinge. In 1842 Sir Francis Palgrave completed the Guide to Northern Italy, while Central and Southern Italy were entrusted to Mr. Octavian Blewitt, for many years Secretary of the Royal Literary Fund.

This is not the place to give a detailed account of the developments which have been made in this well-known series since the death of the elder Mr. Murray. Suffice it to say, that the originator of the Handbooks has been fortunate enough to secure such able colleagues as Richard Ford for Spain, Sir Gardner Wilkinson for Egypt, Dr. Porter for Palestine, Sir George Bowen for Greece, Sir Lambert Playfair for Algiers and the Mediterranean, and Mr. George Dennis for Sicily, &c.

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Father Pasquale Aucher (1774-1827) Of the Mekhitarist Convent in Venice; he tutored Byron in Armenian and collaborated with him on an Armenian grammar (1817).

Cardinal Jean Balue (1421 c.-1491) French statesman who conspired with Charles the Bold against Louis XI, for which he was imprisoned in an iron cage (1469-80).

Charles F. Barry (1831 fl.) Byron's Genoa banker, friend, and correspondent. He was unwilling to share the correspondence with Thomas Moore.

Octavian Blewitt (1810-1884) Writer of handbooks for travellers for John Murray and from 1839 secretary of the Royal Literary Fund.

Sir George Ferguson Bowen (1821-1899) Author of Murray's Handbook for Greece (1857) and governor of New Zealand (1867).

Edmund Boyce (1827 fl.) Author of The Belgian Traveller: being a complete Guide through Belgium and Holland (1823 etc.).

William Brockedon (1787-1854) English landscape painter who composed the text for Finden's Illustrations of the Life and Works of Lord Byron, 3 vols. (1833-34).

George Gordon Byron, sixth Baron Byron (1788-1824) The author of Childe Harold and Don Juan.

Charles VII, King of France (1403-1461) King of France; spurred by Joan of Arc he expelled the English from France and ended the Hundred Years War.

Sir Humphry Davy, baronet (1778-1829) English chemist and physicist, inventor of the safety lamp; in Bristol he knew Cottle, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Southey; he was president of the Royal Society (1820).

George Dennis (1814-1898) Archaeologist in Etruria; he published Handbook for Travellers in Sicily (1864).

Johann Gottfried Ebel (1764-1830) The author of the first travel guide to Switzerland, Anleitung, auf die nützlichste und genussvollste Art in der Schweitz zu reisen, 2 vols (1793) sold in Britain as The Travellers Guide through Switzerland.

William Fletcher (1831 fl.) Byron's valet, the son of a Newstead tenant; he continued in service to the end of the poet's life, after which he was pensioned by the family. He married Anne Rood, formerly maid to Augusta Leigh, and was living in London in 1831.

Richard Ford (1796-1858) Writer on art and Spanish affairs for the Quarterly Review; he published a Handbook for Travellers in Spain (1839).

Henry II, king of England (1133-1189) King of England (1154-89).

John Cam Hobhouse, baron Broughton (1786-1869) Founder of the Cambridge Whig Club; traveled with Byron in the orient, radical MP for Westminster (1820); Byron's executor; after a long career in politics published Some Account of a Long Life (1865) later augmented as Recollections of a Long Life, 6 vols (1909-1911).

Joseph Hume (1777-1855) After service in India he became a radical MP for Weymouth (1812), Aberdeen (1818-30, 1842-55), Middlesex (1830-37), and Kilkenny (1837-41); he was an associate of John Cam Hobhouse and a member of the London Greek Committee. Maria Edgeworth: “Don't like him much; attacks all things and persons, never listens, has no judgment.”

King James VI and I (1566-1625) King of Scotland (1567-1625) and England (1603-1625).

Robert Jameson (1774-1854) Professor of Natural History at Edinburgh University and author of System of Mineralogy, 3 vols (1804-08).

Saint Joan of Arc (1412 c.-1431) The French saint who relieved the siege of Orléan and encouraged resistance against the English.

Mary Anne Leigh (d. 1840) Seller of books and maps in the Strand. Her husband (or father?) Samuel apparently died a suicide in 1831.

Godfrey Levinge (1846 fl.) An Irishman who travelled in the east 1831-33, and published an account of the journey by means of his private press. Likely the younger brother of Sir Richard George Augustus Levinge, MP seventh Baronet (1811-1884).

Louis XI, king of France (1423-1483) King of France who conspired against his father, Charles VII; he reigned 1461-83.

Louis XIV, king of France [the Sun King] (1638-1715) The son of Louis XIII (d. 1643); he was King of France 1643-1715.

Sir Charles Lyell, first baronet (1797-1875) Scottish geologist educated at Exeter College, Oxford; he was author of Principles of Geology (1830-33) and The Antiquity of Man (1863).

Margaret of Anjou (1430-1482) Daughter of Rene, Duke of Anjou; she was the unpopular Queen Consort of King Henry VI of England.

Cardinal Jules Mazarin (1602-1661) Italian cardinal, the protegé of Richelieu and chief minister of Louis XIV.

Clemens Fürst von Metternich (1773-1859) Austrian statesman who proposed the doctrine of a balance of power at the Congress of Vienna, and who fostered repression of dissent within the subsequent Holy Alliance.

John Milton (1608-1674) English poet and controversialist; author of Comus (1634), Lycidas (1638), Areopagitica (1644), Paradise Lost (1667), and other works.

Jacques de Molay (1243 c.-1314) The last grand master of the Knights Templars; he was tried for heresy and burned.

Lady Sydney Morgan [née Owenson] (1778 c.-1859) Anglo-Irish novelist and socialite, author of The Wild Irish Girl (1806).

Sir Roderick Impey Murchison, baronet (1792-1871) Scottish geologist, FRS (1826); he published The Silurian System (1838). He was made a baronet in 1866.

John Murray II (1778-1843) The second John Murray began the Quarterly Review in 1809 and published works by Scott, Byron, Austen, Crabbe, and other literary notables.

John Murray III (1808-1892) The son of the Anak of publishers; he successfully carried on the family publishing business.

Sir Francis Palgrave (1788-1861) Barrister, medieval historian, and writer for the Quarterly Review; he was keeper of her majesty's records, 1838-61.

Robert Lambert Playfair (1828-1899) British diplomat, the grandson of John Playfair; he was consul-general for Algeria and Tunis (1885) and published A Handbook for Travellers in Algeria (1874).

Richard I, king of England [Coeur de Lion] (1157-1199) The son of Henry II; he was king of England 1188-99.

Nathan Mayer Rothschild (1777-1836) Jewish financier who opened a London branch of the family bank in 1805 and acted as an agent of the British government in the conflict with Napoleon.

Sir Walter Scott, baronet (1771-1832) Scottish poet, novelist, antiquary, biographer, editor, and sheriff.

Adam Sedgwick (1785-1873) He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he became a mathematics tutor in 1815 before being elected Woodwardian professor of geology (1818-73). He was a friend of Charles Darwin.

Mary Somerville [née Fairfax] (1780-1872) Mathematician and science writer, daughter of Admiral William George Fairfax (1739-1813) and friend of Ada Byron; she spent her later years in Italy. She was twice married.

William Somerville (1771-1860) Scottish physician, son of the historian Thomas Somerville and friend of Sir John Barrow and John Murray, husband of the writer Mary Fairfax Somervillle; he was physician to Chelsea Hospital (1819-38).

Agnès Sorel (1422 c.-1450) Mistress of Charles VII of France, falsely rumored to have been poisoned.

Nicholas Soult (1769-1851) Marshal of France and commander in the Peninsular War.

Mariana Starke (1762-1838) English dramatist and travel writer; her Travels on the Continent (1820) became the basis for John Murray's series of guides.

Thomas Jameson Torrie (d. 1858) Scottish geologist, the nephew of Robert Jameson (1774-1854).

Louis Tristan l'Hermite (d. 1477 c.) Provost of France under Charles VII and Louis XI; he was renowned for his cruelty.

Frances Trollope [née Milton] (1779-1863) Novelist, travel-writer and mother of Anthony Trollope; she married Thomas Anthony Trollope in 1809. She published Domestic Manners of the Americans, 2 vols (1832).

Arthur Wellesley, first duke of Wellington (1769-1852) Soldier and statesman; commander in the Peninsular Campaign (1809-1813), he defeated Napoleon at Waterloo and was prime minister (1828-1830).

Sir John Gardner Wilkinson (1797-1875) Egyptologist, author of Topography of Thebes and General View of Egypt (1835) and other works.

Murray's Magazine. 10 vols (1887-1891). Edited by Edward Arnold.

The Quarterly Review. (1809-1967). Published by John Murray, the Quarterly was instigated by Walter Scott as a Tory rival to the Edinburgh Review. It was edited by William Gifford to 1824, and by John Gibson Lockhart from 1826 to 1853.

William Brockedon (1787-1854) Illustrations of the Passes of the Alps by which Italy communicates with France, Switzerland, and Germany. 2 vols (London: for the author, 1828-1829). Several times reprinted.

John Lemprière (1765 c.-1824) Bibliotheca classica; or, a Classical Dictionary, containing a full Account of all the Proper Names mentioned in antient Authors. (Reading: A. M. Smart and T. Cowslade, 1788). There were many editions of this useful scholar's crib.

John Milton (1608-1674) Paradise Lost. A Poem written in Ten Books. (London: 1667). A biblical epic on the fall of man, in blank verse.

Lady Sydney Morgan [née Owenson] (1778 c.-1859) Italy. 2 vols (London: H. Colburn, 1821). With notes by Thomas Charles Morgan.

Sir Walter Scott, baronet (1771-1832) Quentin Durward. 3 vols (Edinburgh: A. Constable and Co., 1823).

INFORMATION FROM TEI HEADER

Source Description:

Author: Smiles, Samuel, 1812-1904

Title: Memoir of John Murray 2 Vols (London: John Murray, 1891).

Electronic Edition:

Series: Lord Byron and his Times: http://lordbyron.org

Encoding Description: Any dashes occurring in line breaks have been removed. Obvious and unambiguous compositors’ errors have been silently corrected.

Markup and editing by: David Hill Radcliffe

Completed April 2009

Publication Statement:

Publisher: Center for Applied Technologies in the Humanities, Virginia Tech

Availability: Published under Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License